


Catching a Ride

by Buntheridon



Series: Two Sides to Every Tale [12]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Blood Drinking, F/M, Gags, Horde War Campaign, Light Bondage, Masturbation, Pining, Smut, Undead, Warlock - Freeform, World of Warcraft: Battle for Azeroth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:06:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,713
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26446798
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buntheridon/pseuds/Buntheridon
Summary: Shalaen returns - alone.(Again apologies that this is in the form of a series when really these are chapters of a one story. It just sort of happened, and now I don't want to mess with it.)
Relationships: Nathanos Blightcaller/Original Female Character(s), Nathanos Blightcaller/Sylvanas Windrunner
Series: Two Sides to Every Tale [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1647757
Comments: 11
Kudos: 16





	Catching a Ride

Shalaen hasn’t heard from her sister in awhile, which is starting to feel like there’s more to her silence than merely being busy. But the blood elf is very busy herself as well, so she shoves the nagging thought aside and concentrates on the task at hand. That consists of literal handiwork – it’s the usual pre-quest for being able to face her delightfully cruel taskmaster.

Her face pressed flat against a pillow, ass lifted up enough to give her hand some room to move she plunges her drenched fingers over her clit again. Once is not enough knowing the effect Nathanos has on her. _If I can’t fuck anyone else then I’ll do it myself, damnit._ On the slick rails of the first orgasm she steams towards another, panting through her nose, helping her imagination with a pinch of Azerite she had conveniently forgotten to deliver after one of the numerous treasure expeditions. Just a morsel of the magical stuff, and her thoughts take wing and expand, and Nathanos is there behind her, gripping her hip bones with bruising force and pounding in her like a wanton human. She imagines him growling and comes beautifully, moaning against the pillow.

Apparently today’s mission is a very difficult and important one. She meets Nathanos in the Horde harbor in eastern Tiragarde Sound. He’s watching the ocean on the pier, shooing her to meet with the nightborne Arcanist Valtrois and the half-orc Rexxar deeper inland. After collecting enough human costumes for the mission Shalaen and the two return to the harbor. The Blightcaller has a small boat for them.

”This should be adequate.” Finally he seems to notice her. His red eyes study her carefully and after a long tense moment he chuckles softly and sets his gaze back to the horizon. The ogre-orc and the shal’dorei load their items in the boat, waiting for her.

What did he see? That even when she’s aroused she’s not dying of lust right there but is, indeed, still interested and ready to please him? That she still keeps her self-worth, honor and independence despite having obeyed his arbitrary command of abstinence and truly liking some part of his bossing around? She hopes some of these thoughts get through. Humiliating and torturing enemies must be entertaining, but Shalaen aims to ruin his career as the head inquisitor by being more rewarding and more interesting a playmate than the Alliance captives. 

Besides wanting to purely pleasure him she has this urge to penetrate his walls, feel what he feels, understand his mind. She has even imagined him surrendering to her dominance one day. And there it is, the gravity of the game turned serious. She wants so much more than just his intriguing physics or his perfect bad boy act.

“We would like the least amount of risk during your retrieval of Priscilla Ashvane. There will be a shift change when you arrive and Valtrois has taken on the task of disguising you two. Meet me back here when you have succeeded. If you fail but manage to stay alive you might as well lock yourselves in there.”

”Are there any _special rewards_ at the completion of this task… sire? Tol Dagor is said to be an extremely violent place, nearly impossible to breach in, or out. The prize should fit the risk of the job in question.”

”Hmmh. I suppose that’s fair. I will consider it. But only if the Dark Lady is exceptionally pleased with your overall work in this mission.” His eyes burn through her mind, the brief private grin like a promise. Or so she wishes.

How complicated it is to arrange a date with this guy.

Shalaen hops on the boat. On the way to the prison island she ponders whether propositioning Valtrois would break against the Blightcaller’s order, but decides not to bother. The ancient nightborne _is_ gorgeous but not worth the trouble at this stage of the affair as it were.

At the island they disguise themselves as Kul Tiran humans and use Rexxar as their free pass: he’s wanted for the late Lord Admiral’s murder, apparently. They get in fine, although the Warden’s insinuations about a _special tour_ makes her fingers itch with violent magic.

The place looks more like a Scarlet Crusade torture chamber than a mere prison. Ashvane is sitting peacefully in her cell and after creating some chaos they slip away through the sewers with her in tow. To Shalaen’s delight the same nitwit Warden is leading the retaliatory force – she gets to look him in the eyes when she drains the life out of him.

At the shore Sylvanas’ ride is waiting. It’s a huge, dark Forsaken three-mast ship that impresses even the haughty Arcanist. Priscilla Ashvane walks imperially up the plank to meet the Warchief of the Horde, sneering as she goes.

”You need something from me.”

“How perceptive of you, Lady Ashvane. We have mutual interests to discuss.” 

Turning to Shalaen the Banshee Queen says, “Champion, you have done well, again. Here, take this to Nathanos. You’ve earned it,” she drawls and _winks_ at her, a sealed note in her hand. The warlock sidles up to the deck, bows and takes it. There’s always been something in Sylvanas Windrunner that has just blown her socks off and she finds herself speechless. And aroused. A gesture so playful and _intimate_ from her is unheard of.

Her disregard for the small folk’s mundane troubles is no surprise, however. Or maybe she trusts her champions’ survival skills doubtlessly. The ship sets sail leaving the three heroes at the dock like they were pieces of abandoned cargo. ”Such is the way of things,” Valtrois sighs and they walk around half the island for their little boat to get back to Plunder Harbor.

“Of course I _could_ teleport us, but I’m convinced the Warchief’s champion would comment on the missing boat”, the Arcanist mutters and is probably right.

When they get back to Tiragarde Nathanos is at the dock like he knew when to wait for them. Or maybe he has been standing there this whole time like a cairn, who knows about the Forsaken habits? Shalaen hands in the note and she’s not sure which tickles her more, her curiosity to know the content of it or her rising anticipation for experiencing said content in action. Nathanos reads it, flashing a grin at the little parchment. _Did his eyes just deepen in their red flame?_ She’s not sure.

“Your success bodes well for our future endeavors,” he says to all three and gives heavy sacks of gold to the hunter and the Arcanist. 

He nods to Shalaen. “Follow me. I will give you what the queen ordered.” They walk in silence to the Plunder Harbor inn that looks like a repurposed wrecked ship. Inside, a nightborne lady welcomes them and Nathanos pulls her aside. After a short negotiation which Shalaen cannot hear the innkeeper leads them to a liquor cabinet that turns out to be a hidden doorway downstairs. She hands him a key.

“Left corridor, third room. Use the goblin communicator by the door if you need anything or want this door opened. Have a pleasant stay.”

Walking down the narrow staircase the warlock tries to calm her mind about what’s to come. She’s uncharacteristically out of sass and it bothers her.

What would Sylvanas ask him to give – or do – to her? The room they enter is a medium sized bedroom with a bed, a cupboard and a couple of chests. Shackles and handcuffs hang from the bedposts and the ceiling. The walls are padded with old mattresses for soundproofing. 

_Oh,_ she gasps in her mind. _A special suite._

“Make yourself comfortable… while you can,” the Blightcaller says without looking at her, leaving the choice of closing the door behind them to her. He takes off his jacket and the vest, revealing a surprisingly bright lavender mageweave shirt. It’s tight-fitting, showing off the muscles underneath. They look strong bulging like that, and if it weren’t for his skin tone it would be easy to forget he’s undead. 

She pushes the door shut and turns the key. No turning back now. Just the way she likes it.

Nathanos turns around catching her admiring stare. He chuckles, still expressing incredulity and amusement for her enthusiasm. Shalaen keeps her eyes on his when he slowly removes the cufflinks and rolls the sleeves up in an exaggerated show of ‘getting to work’. After a moment’s quiet contemplation tinted only by the sin’dorei’s heartbeats he speaks again.

”You amaze me, champion. Even the very few living who dare to talk back at me smell mainly of fear in my presence. You know perfectly well I could do whatever I please with you and no-one would come to your aid – yet, you–” he gestures vaguely towards her. “You’re either mad or very stupid.” His chattiness helps her relax enough to tilt her head in a cute mocking way.

”Tsk, tsk. And I thought you the _last_ guy who’d want a pity fuck.”

She’s slammed against the wall so fast she didn’t even see him move. She laughs, delighted. He just needed an incentive. Nose against her nose he snarls through his teeth – but it’s a grin, not a grimace.

”I knew the peace of you staying silent would be short-lived. What was it, hero, celibacy dried your tongue today?” He pulls her arms up and clicks a pair of leather-lined manacles around her wrists. They are attached to a chain hanging from the ceiling.

”Hardly. Would you like to test it?”

“If you’re expecting me to quench your thirst –” He grunts, reaching for something behind him in his jacket pocket.

“But you already do that, _sire.”_

“Do I? Well, then you are in for a treat. And so am I.” The Blightcaller pulls out a small ball gag made of wood and leather. He holds the ball gently between his thumb and index finger, smiles wickedly and steps in front of her. “I’m going to enjoy your inability to speak a bit longer.”

“Uh, that’s not fair. I know you love my _– mmff!”_ He pushes the wooden ball into her mouth. It snaps in place behind her teeth keeping her jaw wide enough for her attempted speech to be incomprehensible mumbling noise. _If I can’t talk, what even is there between us?_ Shalaen wonders, almost worried, contemplating the undead in front of her. He remains standing there some inches away, humming with theatrical approval at the ensuing silence, tying the leather straps behind her head. She frowns, raises an eyebrow and rolls her eyes, showing that she can still throw some sass while muted.

Nathanos chuckles at her, then his gaze slowly travels down her form. Gently he sweeps a strand of blond hair from her forehead behind her long ear. His cold fingers linger on her earlobe, then slide down and stay on her pulse for some moments. His expression is unreadable as always but he’s there, isn’t he, and he’s interested on some level.

“You have guessed right. I could have my fill of scared captives to torture, and I do, regularly. Up to a certain point their fear and pain is rousing.”

He places his palms on her narrow waist, thoughtful. “What I do now is what she asked me to do, as a reward. Don’t read too much into it. If you like it, and if I like it that you like it, well – we’ll see.”

The warlock frowns at his peculiar announcement but can’t do much more her arms up and mouth shut. Nathanos turns her around and starts lifting the hem of her robe, slowly gathering it around her waist, revealing her thighs and ass. Wearing nothing beneath has become a norm for her. Soon she feels something on the small of her back that trickles between her buttocks. The cold fingers follow the oil down and she gasps, hips tilting back automatically. Nathanos places one hand on her chest below her breasts to steady her, presses himself against her side in a manner that’s almost a hug, and slowly circles a slippery finger on her anal entrance. She bites the gag and groans, getting ready for being teased and then dumped again.

“You showed signs of being partial to this the other time,” he muses and pushes the finger in. She tenses, then wills her muscles to relax and as he presses deeper, a tingling pleasure spreads throughout her center. She moans against the wooden ball, saliva dripping down her chin, the aching need inside her magnificent. When he’s three knuckles in Nathanos pauses.

“I am aware you cannot utter the safeword at the moment, Speaker. Tap your foot four times if you wish me to stop.” His voice is right by her ear and soft as a caress. He’s sure to start some sort of torture any time now, she calculates, not trusting him to miss an opportunity.

“Did you know the undead can feed off the living?” he suddenly informs her. “Some like to eat fresh corpses, some don’t care if the cadavers were rotten last week. Some fancy a particular inner organ.” He pulls the finger out halfway, then pushes back in, starting a rhythm that slowly gains momentum. Shalaen whimpers, gasping through her nose which is challenging, guessing where this is going.

“Me, I have a liking for fresh blood. Preferably off a living source. It’s nothing I need for survival, of course, but it’s one of my rare indulgences.”

 _What are you, a San'layn?_ she mocks him inwardly even though thinking of him drinking blood gets hers pumping. Of course they’d be cannibals, with their expired, envious bodies. She feels a thicker invasion push in, he’s added another digit and it feels phenomenal.

”Is this the sort of thing you craved to know about me, champion? Do you feel warm and fuzzy now, so very familiar with me?” He punctuates his words with aggressive thrusts of his fingers and the cuffs chafe her wrists as she’s swung about. There’s something in his mockery that feels almost defensive. _So very scared of someone actually becoming close to you, hmm?_

With a muffled sound Shalaen catches his attention and he slows down but does not pull the fingers out, does not stop the movement entirely.

”What is it? Can’t you see I’m busy making you a frustrated wreck?”

Eyes glued to his she inclines her head, exposing her slender neck.

He stops, stares at her. _If he needed air, he’d probably gasp right now,_ she thinks triumphantly never showing any sign of it on her face, a mask of playful submission. _Come on, you want it, why else would you have mentioned it?_

It’s almost as if he’s hesitant. Would it truly be too intimate, she wonders, twitching at the needy spasms of her neglected, dripping core. She keeps the offer on view, waiting. Finally Nathanos huffs, lowering his eyes for there just might have been a hint of delight in them. 

”Not there.”

His unoccupied hand brushes down her arms, slowly, raising goosebumps. The warlock sees his dark red pupils dilate like he’s focusing on spotting a prey in the shadows, but instead he searches for something on her skin. Or underneath it.

”This will inconvenience you until you find a healer,” he shrugs and bites his teeth into her biceps muscle, near the armpit. Shalaen groans in surprise more than anything else, having expected him to say no or at least choose a major artery. His teeth break the skin and he sucks, pressing himself flush against her side.

The surprises that follow completely do her in. As Nathanos laps the droplets of blood he proceeds with ravaging her from behind with his fingers. His other hand lands on her lower stomach, over her robe, sliding downwards.

And then she feels _it_ against the side of her thigh, slowly swelling into its full size. Whether it’s intentional from his part or something in the situation actually causes it is irrelevant to her lust. He hums, cold lips against the wound, and touches her oversensitized clitoris through the clothes.

”This is from the Dark Lady.” 

It takes three strokes to make her come.

**Author's Note:**

> Too many WIPs to juggle so all of them are delayed. Managed this one, finally! Also here’s art to accompany the fic: 
> 
> https://www.deviantart.com/buntheridon/art/Blightcaller-s-Playtime-851081944


End file.
